Under Shadow
by thelonelyboatman
Summary: It's two years before the downfall of Lord Voldemort, and the Order of the Pheonix need intelligence, fast. Step up Nazima McKinnon. But in trying to help, she might just be the destruction of her family...
1. Prologue - Halloween

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"This tale is about the McKinnon family: greatest and most fair of all the old names of the magical world, a bloodline pure and unbroken. Hugh Owen was greatest of them all. Son of Morwenna Pritchard and John McKinnon, both wise and skilled, vital opponents of the Dark Lord Grindelwald.  
  
Hugh Owen was their eldest son, and his name is revered in wizarding circles. He grew to be an Auror, a hunter of Dark wizards and an enemy of black magic. He steeped himself in lore, and became among the most learned of warlocks, a formidable opponent of the new Dark Lord, Voldemort, who had risen in the wake of Grindelwalds' defeat and destruction.  
  
Hugh married, Sharia Shah, beautiful and of a most respected and ancient blood of the Middle East. He begot 6 children, Nazima, Fatima, Omar, Mohammed, Owen and Sharia. The family grew in riches, and mansion halls they had in Hogsmeade, Furmat and Cairo.  
  
But the McKinnons were defeated and laid low by the Dark lord, the greatest and oldest of wizarding families all but decimated. So ended a glorious chapter in British wizarding history, in tears and ruin."  
  
* From a History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot.  
  
NB: This story is based in and around the world and characters portrayed in the Harry Potter books. However its' main concern is with a family of characters born entirely of my own imagination, the McKinnons. The events of the story begin two years before the fall of Lord Voldemort.  
  
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books, all characters and locations within are the intellectual property of JK Rowling and Warner Brothers. Oh yeah, and Nazima, is pronounced Nazma.  
  
Prologue.  
  
It was a cold night, and still. The very air seemed tingle and spark with anticipation, and the wind whispered conspiratorially in the trees. A large, bare mound rose in the midst of the forest, and on it stood a figure as silent and still as the night itself, and bristling with menace--waiting?  
  
There was a long moment of impatient silence. It was broken in an instant, with the swishing of cloaks and the rustle of feet on the dead and rotting leaves. With precision and supreme obedience the death eaters formed a circle around their Dark Lord, and bowed low to him.  
  
"Today," he began, in a voice as cold and high as a winter wind, "Is among our greatest hours."  
  
A whisper went around the encompassed circle and triumphant sounds made.  
  
"All Hallows Eve, when our magic is at it's strongest and most profound. Today all the dark creatures rush to join you in my servitude. Today, the Bones, a thorn in the side of my plans have been dispatched, murdered most effectively by my loyal servants."  
  
4 of the death eaters bowed to a murmur of approval from their fellows.  
  
"And tonight--tonight, we welcome yet more to my service. Step forward!"  
  
Heads were turned behind faceless masks to look at the anonymous figures, 5 in total, robed in black like every one else, but somehow more diminutive. A terrible smile spread across Lord Voldemorts' face. With one unnaturally long and impossibly pale finger he beckoned one of them forth. The figure was small and rotund, and trembling like a leaf caught in a sting wind. His breath came in short gasps as he kneeled before the Dark Lord.  
  
"Your left arm."  
  
Voldemort took the plump arm with his own chalk white hand, and with the other drew something shining and silver from his robes. A knife, the moon reflected in the blade. The arm began to shake violently, but Voldemorts' grip strengthened. An anguished squeal of pain cut through the air as the knife cut across soft flesh. The Dark Lord spoke again:  
  
"Before you bleed to death," The man gave a low moan, " - a question. Would you like me to heal you?"  
  
"My lord," He gasped, "Yes, please, yes..."  
  
"What would you give?"  
  
"Anything! Anything, my lord, please..."  
  
"Your soul, wormtail, your servitude, and if I require it, your life."  
  
"Anything, Lord! Please!"  
  
Voldemorts' vicious smile widened. The knife disappeared into his robe, and out instead came his wand. He pressed the tip to the wounded arm. Wormtail, the man, howled in pain. The hideous sounds and smell of sizzling flesh filled the nostrils of the Death Eaters for a moment. And then, Voldemort removed his wand from the mans' arm- there, instead of a bloody wound, an equally ugly mark was burnt black into his skin. Voldemorts' own Dark Mark, a serpent entwined with a skull.  
  
The Death Eaters roared their approval as Wormtail bent to kiss his masters robes, and scurried off to join the ensemble ranks.  
  
"Promises and vows, words are of limited value to me, for I know them to be treacherous. You, my new servant, are bonded to me by a vow of blood - an unbreakable magical covenant. Be faithful, and you shall have rich rewards. However, betray me, and the consequences will be beyond your worst nightmares."  
  
At these words, a shiver ran down the spine of one of the robed figures. The last in line, the last to be sworn in, she tried hard to steady her breathing. He can sense your fear, she thought, he can read your emotions. She had a desperate, maddening desire to run and get out of here as fast as she could. But she too, had promises and vows to keep. 


	2. chapter one: A fateful decision

Chapter One  
  
A few weeks earlier...  
  
"Do you, Nazima McKinnon, swear to uphold the values and the principles of this order? To fight the Dark Arts wherever you see them in action?"  
  
"I do, sir, with all my soul."  
  
"Do you promise to keep its' secrets?"  
  
"I do, sir."  
  
"Do you promise, Nazima, to accept all responsibilities given you?  
  
"I do, sir."  
  
"Do you recognise that you must respect and protect each member of this order as if they were your own blood, and come to their aid without hesitation, if they are ever in need of it?"  
  
"I do."  
  
She let out a deep breath and looked up to see Professor Dumbledore beaming warmly at her.  
  
"Well, now that the formalities have been observed," He said, "Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Nazima." He handed her a small silver ring, with a red stone set in the middle. She slid it onto her finger with pride, admiring how the crystal seemed to shimmer crimson and gold in the candlelight.  
  
At the long table sat 19 witches and wizards, of all ages and classes, applauding politely. Nazima looked down the table and saw Lily Evans, her best friend, and James Potter, Lilys' fiancé, grinning broadly at her. Beside them sat Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Florence Selkirk. They had all been members of the order since they left Hogwarts school 4 years ago, and now, finally, she was too.  
  
Further still down the table were the stony faces of the Hogwarts professors. They were applauding, but looking none too pleased with their new addition. The aurors, Alastor Moody, Arabella Figg among others were conversing between themselves, glancing resentfully up the table now and then. And at the end of the table was a face Nazima did not wish to see. She felt a sort of relief to see that her father wasn't looking at her.  
  
"I take it for granted that you know everyone here." Spoke Dumbledore, with a small smile, "The order is a democratic unit, Nazima. Decisions are not taken until a majority of our members can agree on them. If you have a problem or a piece of information to bring up, simply speak." He bent a little closer, and said in a low voice. "The others may not have high expectations of you Nazima, but I do. I know you can make me proud."  
  
With no small amount of apprehension, she sat down opposite Lily, let out a long sigh, whispered:  
  
"Have you ever felt like you're not wanted?"  
  
Nazima McKinnon, just turned 22, shared a small damp flat in Hogsmeade with Florence Selkirk, an old friend from Hogwarts, and a desiccated old hag of a landlady. She had a frankly terrible job ghostwriting articles for Witch Weekly magazine. That's what you get when you don't study. Most weeknights were spent down the pub with a large group of friends; most of whom, in her opinion, were boring sods. She had had a string of short-term boyfriends; most of whom, in her opinion, were boring sods. The only remarkable thing about her was her mothers' good looks and her fathers surname. However, she was a shameful disappointment to them both.  
  
In few, the days passed: without much hope of adventure, or excitement. Only a deep burning desire in her heart for something more, something better.  
  
It would have stayed that way too. However, in the outside world, each passing day was bringing news of a new horror. Lord Voldemort had cast his terrible shadow across Britain, and the country slowly passed into a long winter of darkness.  
  
People vanished. And in their stead an ever increasing number of dark creatures: were-wolves, vampires, giants and trolls, appeared. It was no longer safe to walk the streets after dark. It was dangerous to talk to strangers. The entire structure of their society seemed to buckle and strain under this new stress. And it was in this time, the dawn of an age of tears and terror, that Nazima McKinnon was invited, out of the blue, to become a member of the Order of the Phoenix.  
  
Professor Minerva McGonagall fought hard to suppress a yawn. It was nearly midnight, and the room was uncomfortably warm. Her glasses were beginning to stick to the bridge of her nose. To her left and right were faces red from the warmth, the drink and the heated debate. The meeting had been going on for 4 long hours and they were still drawing a blank.  
  
A man sitting towards the end of the table stood up. He was tall and handsome, with thick fair hair and blazing red eyes, but his face was lined with the care of long years.  
  
"We cannot go onwards, friends, fighting Lord Voldemort with the limited intelligence we have! It is an impossible task! How can we defeat the Dark Lord, if we don't know his next movements?"  
  
A murmur of agreement ran around the room. Professor McGonagall had never been overly fond of Hugh McKinnon. He was, after all, a maddeningly proud and egotistic man, with a tendency towards patronising his inferiors: for example, women. In general. However, he was also a magnificent and moving speaker. So she noted down his comments in the record.  
  
"Very nicely said, Hugh," Spoke a low and gravelly voice, "Stating the obvious, I see, is becoming a habit of yours here. But d'you really expect a Death Eater to turn?" Alastor Moody cast his eyes darkly around the room.  
  
"There are other ways of extracting information from a suspect, Alastor." Spoke a curt voice- that of Bartemius Crouch.  
  
This immediately caused uproar. Glasses were slammed on the table, voices were raised, and many witches and wizards jumped out of their seats in protest. Professor Dumbledore, who had been seated benignly at the head of the long table thus far, got to his feet, roaring, `ORDER! Order, please!'  
  
The noise subsided, but dark mutterings were heard around the table.  
  
" Barty, I'm honestly surprised at you. We have no patience here for ... for torture, if that's what you're suggesting. We will not resort to the Dark Lords methods. We must defeat this darkness with light."  
  
There was a long silence. Everyone, all 25 of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, as it was known, all were silent, the brains tired, wrung dry of ideas.  
  
Then slowly, Hugh McKinnon spoke:  
  
"Unless, friends... unless we put a put a plant ... a spy, into their ranks..."  
  
"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Hugh." Minerva McGonagall spat, scornfully. "We can't ask someone to do that. It's madness."  
  
"But what if someone volunteered?"  
  
Minerva snapped her head round to see young Nazima McKinnon leaning across the table, eyes wide and fascinated. If she disliked Hugh McKinnon, she liked his daughter even less. Her days at Hogwarts had proved her to be a wilful, spoiled and obnoxious little chatterbox. She doubted whether things had changed. Sirius Black made a derisive noise.  
  
"The dark Lord would sniff out a spy in no time. It's a suicide mission. No one can do this. No one."  
  
Nazima sat quietly back in her chair, lost in her own thoughts. Everyone else was getting up to leave, they seemed only to float and fade out of her peripheral vision like ghosts. Deep inside, she felt like a seed of ambition, long planted, was beginning to grow. She got up, and, hardly realising what she was doing, moved towards Dumbledore.  
  
"Sir - a word if you would."  
  
He said something, she didn't hear what in reply, and, waving the last stragglers out, shut the door. Nazima tried hard to waken herself, before looking up to meet Dumbledores' piercing gaze. It made her feel utterly transparent.  
  
"So, Nazima. What would you like to talk to me about?"  
  
"Sir... about what I said earlier... you need information."  
  
Dumbledore nodded. There was a strange, sad look in his eyes. He knew what she was going to say. All the eloquent words she had planned seemed to dissipate.  
  
"Sir, I ... I volunteer. I want to do something. To fight the Dark Lord. I want to spy for you."  
  
Dumbledore leant back in his chair, and closed his eyes.  
  
"Ah. Nazima. Nazima. You're right, we do need this ... But you don't know what you've just said." He let out a sigh.  
  
"But sir, please! It's perfect - I have no responsibilities, I've nothing to lose. The Dark Lord will think that this is a great victory! He's finally got one of the McKinnons - he'll think its' some last act of rebellion against my father."  
  
Dumbledore looked at her for a second, before getting up and pacing the floor, brow furrowed in deep thought.  
  
" I understand the logic of what you're saying perfectly. And, of course, I trust you not to let me down. You may not have been the studious of pupils ever in Hogwarts," Dumbledore gave her a small smile, "But I have always thought highly of you Nazima. You are an excellent talker, you have a skill with words which lends itself to the task at hand. But Nazima .... It is not the how I am concerned about so much as the why."  
  
"Why? Because I want to do something useful with myself for once. I've been wasting my life for too long." She sat back with a sort of grim relief. That very thought had been plaguing her for the last few months.  
  
"And not then, out of a desire to prove your worth? To your family? Your father is a very old friend of mine Nazima, but I do not know what he would think of me if he knew I was sending his child into the arms of Lord Voldemort...."  
  
"I'm not a child. Not anymore. I can make my own decisions. You don't have to tell old Hugh if you don't want to, it makes no difference to me."  
  
Dumbledore kept his piercing eyes fixed to her own. He seemed to be searching for a reason to say no. Eventually, with great reluctance, he looked away.  
  
"Come to me again tomorrow. I'll see what I can arrange."  
  
She got up, feeling suddenly blank.  
  
"And Nazima ," He added ,"...Be careful." 


End file.
